


all the souls that would die just to feel alive

by SerpaSas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Second Person, Pre-Series, Sexual Harassment, because supernatural doesn't do that, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 11:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1385224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpaSas/pseuds/SerpaSas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Jess realized Sam wasn't a normal guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the souls that would die just to feel alive

**Author's Note:**

> So I started writing this... a really fucking long time ago, okay, like really long ago.
> 
> Betaed by the lovely Floki, who is over on tumblr at faithslayer.tumblr.com

_i. The scars_

You've been together for two weeks the first time you ask him in for coffee, after one of the best dates you've ever had. You don't know if people really use the coffee line, but you've seen it on TV enough, and the only other thing you can think of is _do you want to come in and have sex?_

Coffee actually ends up being made, you even get the mugs out before giving up and kissing him.

He's taller than you; Sam's taller than _everyone_ \- which is why you didn't take off your heels. His lips are warm and softer than most guys, his hand is large and calloused on your cheek, and his hair is long and soft in your fingers.

When you lean back for air, you grin and pull him towards the bedroom, leaving mugs on the counter and coffee bubbling in the pot. 

You wake up the next morning with arms loosely wrapped around you, your head using a bare chest as a pillow. The sunlight is streaming in through the window, and for the first time you see what was masked in the black-blue darkness of night- Sam is covered in scars.

Gently, you trail a finger along a stretch of his stomach where you can faintly see three long lines, almost like claw marks. To the right of those is one that looks like a surgical scar, except its not clean enough. Above those, it looks like someone had stabbed him with a screwdriver or something equally as thin.

As he snores, you take inventory of his healed wounds. You don't roll him over to check his back, but you do lift the covers and count the scars on his legs. 

It's a mystery how someone so young could have that many scars- personally, you have a grand total of three; one from having your appendix removed, one from the time you fell off bike, and one from an incident with Halloween pumpkin carving- but you're not sure how to solve it. Sam's going to make a great lawyer, because he's answered all questions you asked about his family and childhood without telling you anything. You know he has a brother and a father; that his brother's name is Dean, that they were close; that they moved a lot, and that he had been born in Kansas. Beyond that, you couldn't say.

Wherever these are from, you know there can't be normal stories behind all of them. Sure, maybe the one on his knee is from tripping onto gravel, maybe the one on his chest is from chickenpox- but most of them can't be explained away. You wonder if Sam would try.

You find you don't really want to know, and decide to let him tell you when he's ready.

_ii. The gun_

Every night you've spent together since that first one has been in your apartment. Yours is cleaner, and nicer, and he has roommates- but a pipe in your kitchen burst yesterday, so you're staying with Sam until everything is fixed and dry.

It's then that you find the gun.

You're not snooping- honestly, you're not. Even if it is tempting to look for something that would tell you more about the man you've been dating for two months, the man you think you're probably in love with, you have a feeling that you wouldn't find much anyways. Sam doesn't have much in the way of material possessions, and what he does have is pretty standard. The only personal touches you can see are from his time in Palo Alto.

So you restrain the urge to invade his privacy, and lie down in his bed instead. Sam is studying in the living room, so you're all alone when you feel the lump.

It's not like the mattress is comfy in the first place, but this lump feels... weird. Unlike a normal mattress lump. More like something is under the mattress.

The lump is right near the side, too- you could just reach an arm down and grab whatever was there. Which is what you do.

Your hand touches something hard, and cold, and metal. Something in your gut sinks, because you recognize it from the time your older brother, a cop, decided you should learn to shoot. You had sucked, missed every target by a mile, but you still remember how it felt to have the pistol in your grip.

You pull it out gently, slowly, and suppress a gasp, because even thought you knew it was coming... finding a _gun_ under your boyfriend's bed is a bit shocking.

You remember the scars Sam wears on his body, the way he holds himself, the way his eyes flit across a room every time he enters it, noticing exits, cataloguing faces. How he hardly ever talks about his family, or his life before Stanford.

You put the gun back where you found it, and roll to the other side of the bed.

_iii. The salt_

After eight months of dating, you move in together.

Maybe you should have waited longer, but your lease was up, and Sam's roommates were driving him insane. And you love each other. Love like you've never loved a guy before, like every time he smiles at you the world gets brighter, like his kisses are oxygen, like being with him is better than chocolate.

You might not know everything (nothing) about him, but you know he loves you, you know he's a great guy, you know you are lucky to have found him. You are forever in Brady's debt for introducing you.

But living with someone lets you see some of their more bizarre... quirks. For instance, the salt.

Yes, salt.

It's not something you notice right away- salt is a normal thing to have around, right? Everybody has salt. It's a thing. Salt is an ingredient in basically everything.

Sam keeps _a lot_ of salt, though.

Table salt in shakers, little packets swiped from restaurants and cafes in his pockets, a giant bag of rock salt under the sink. 

It's a bit weird.

A man down the street is mugged and killed two months after you're all moved in. Its horrible, scary, a tragedy- you didn't know the guy, but you had seen him around. He had seemed nice. 

You read a newspaper article about it, sigh sadly. Sam read the same article, but more intently. Rereading lines again and again, like how he learns coursework. Like he's searching for something. And all of a sudden he looks _old_ , old enough that all those scars don't seem so misplaced.

You place a hand on his shoulder, slide it down to his hand, make him drop the paper, grasp his hand and pull him to the bedroom.

You don't fall asleep, and neither does he. But you pretend, want to see what's happening to him.

He gets out of bed at 3am, and you can hear him shuffling around the place, the perimeter- he even comes into the bedroom, silent, silent, trying not to wake you from your pretend sleep. And then you can hear it- salt. He's pouring _salt_. All over the place.

You want to be angry, you want to have your questions answered, but when he comes back to bed, he pulls you into his arms and breaths you in, burying his face in your neck and hair and his touch is desperate. 

He must still think you're asleep, because he whispers into your hair, _if I go back to that, I'll lose you. And I can't lose you_. His whisper goes higher as he faces the ceiling, looking for God. _Please just let me have this. Please._

You both fall asleep clinging together, and in the morning, when you see there are salt lines against every wall, you don't mention it.

If it makes him feel safer, then you don't really care. It's not like its hurting anybody.

When you look up superstitions about salt, though, you get a bit freaked.

You don't think about it.

_iv. The fight_

It starts with some jackass getting drunk at the bar you and Sam are in. When Sam goes to the washroom, jackass takes his place- no matter that you tell him your boyfriend will be right back, that you're not interested, that you would appreciate it if he kept his hands to himself.

Jackass is in the middle of grope number three when Sam comes back. Jackass backs off when he sees him. Sam follows.

For all Sam is a giant, for all his strength that he maintains religiously, every morning the same routine to keep his body ready (for what, you do not know), for all the weapons you find and way he carries himself like an animal on the hunt, you have never thought of him as- well, as _dangerous._

Now Jackass seems to be the animal of prey, slinking out of the bar, Sam leaning down to you to tell you he's just going to talk to the guy, explain why he shouldn't have been doing that, why he shouldn't do that at all, to anyone- and then he's gone, out the door.

You manage to stay in your seat for at least a full two minutes before curiosity and worry get the better of you, and you follow.

You find them in the back alley, and Sam in winning.

It's not like Sam is sober either, he's had more than a couple drinks tonight, but he dodges Jackass's swings and kicks with ease, not returning any until, suddenly, he does.

A single punch to the throat, then a knee to the stomach, and quicker than a blink, Sam trips his legs from under the guy, and Jackass is on his back. Up until this point, it was like watching a cat play with a mouse- or maybe a cougar play with a rabbit- but now, now there is no play, none at all.

The man you love in kicking another man that you very much do not love or care about in anyway to death on a dirty alley ground outside a bar.

You think about just going back inside. Instead, you call out for him. He turns at his name and freezes when he sees you, looks down at Jackass, at the blood on his shoes and knuckles, but you just shake your head and hold out your hand. He comes to you, and you go home.

You do not check the newspaper to see if a dead man was found behind the bar.

_v. The demon_

Your home smells like freshly bakes cookies and sulphur, and all you can feel in the pain in your gut from where its been torn open. Brady is standing in front of you, except it's not Brady, because Brady is your friend and doesn't have black eyes and wouldn't kill you, which is almost certainly what he is going to do.

Sam will not save you. You know this because you can tell that this is happening to hurt him. The- _demon_ formally known as Brady has planned this. When Sam comes home, it will be too late.

You wonder what Sam has done, who he is, that's brought a demon to the home that you share. You wonder what the family emergency really is. You wonder so many things.

As you burn, you don't think about it.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on tumblr, at queenbeyondthewalll.tumblr.com


End file.
